Chapter Two - The Time Tower


Story so far:

Hannah was bored of life. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong with it, it was just, well, dull. She craved adventure. Excitement. Something that made her feel like she was doing something. Then one day in the office she got an email. An email that changed her life. An email that told her to Follow Her Feet. We left her last week leaving the office. What will she do when she makes it to the street? Read on to find out. 

***

Her feet touched ground on the pavement and Hannah realised she was holding her breath. What was going to happen? Was she going to be swept off by a helicopter? Was someone going to appear and tell her what to do? Or was she just going to end up looking really stupid…? She stood, stock still, in front of the revolving doors. She didn’t have a clue where to go next. Follow her feet. But where?! Surely she should be given a sign.  


Next moment, with a thump that sent her flying, Mr Davidson clattered into her with a volley of unbecoming profanities that reverberated in her ears. 
“Can’t you watch where you’re..oh sorry, Anna isn’t it?”  Anger melted to reparation as he stared at her unashamed. The curse of the push up bra she thought rolling her eyes and wishing she was wearing the minimiser.
“It’s Hannah. I prepared that report for you last week.”
“Did you? Well, good for you.” Nothing like being patronised to make a woman smile she thought. Where do they find these people? He hadn’t finished though, “Look, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t see you. Can I take you for a drink or something, later. Make it up to you, you know…?” He trailed off with a wink. She shuddered. 
“There’s no need” she said sweetly trying not to glower. Making a mental note to keep up with her washing pile when she returned from her adventure she darted up and scurried away before Mr Davidson’s hands could follow his eyes under the pretence of helping her up. It shouldn’t take a man in a thousand to listen to you rather than just look and that report had taken weeks. Urgh!


Absorbed in her irritation she wended her way down the street and before she knew it, she was standing right in front of the beautiful old tower which acted as the unofficial centre of town. To most of the town it was an annoying eyesore which ruined the modern aesthetic they were trying to achieve. All around were glass panelled skyscrapers, dazzling lights and immaculately conceived pedestrian zones. This building which dated from “oh ages ago” clashed superbly with their simplistic designs but sadly could not be got rid of as it was “listed don’t you know, such a pain”. Hannah loved it, she had always loved it. It was just so wonderfully out of place. She called it The Time Tower and set her watch by it every morning. It had large twisted golden hands which turned relentlessly round the roman numerals allotting the minutes and hours of her day. The clock face itself was large, almost twice her height but it was so high up and the imposing glass all around packed in so closely that the clock was now hard to make out from the street. Hannah thought she was probably the only one that ever bothered looking. She reached out to touch its crumbling facade. It was warm. The golden stone was sunbathing in the afternoon light and the few blades of grass that clung on round the edges were gasping, refusing to bow to grey monotony. She walked away and round to the other side to check the time, automatically really, she knew it was a quarter past two. She stepped back into position and glanced up shading her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. The clock was wrong. The Time Tower was telling her the wrong time. How could this be? The Time Tower never got it wrong. Never. Yet here it was, hands firmly stuck at thirty four minutes past twelve. Thirty four minutes past twelve. How odd.


Her eyes sliding down the building she saw something she had never seen before. There was a sort of archway cut into the stone near the base of the tower. There was no gap to walk through but there was definitely some sort of arch. Some design etched into the fabric of the building. Something new. Or was she looking with new eyes? She edged forward, suspicion telling her she was wrong but there was always that possibility… She was right. There was something here. She could touch it, run her hands through the grooves. So smooth she thought. This was not new. She let her hands explore the surface, marvelling in the obscurity of her actions. If anyone at the coffee shop behind her looked up from their screens for a mere moment they would surely gape in wonder. She laughed and let her hands fall lower, kneeling on the bare earth. Right at the bottom of the archway, on the left hand side there was an anomaly. A bit of the stone had come loose it seemed and as she worked at it there it came, away in her hands. Anticipation flooding her she dropped to the floor and peered through. A pin pad. A door entry system. This was it, it had to be. She had found headquarters. Flushed with her own success she reached inside. She knew exactly what to do. Thirty four minutes past twelve. 12.34. Somewhere from the depths of the stone a mechanism clicked into place. A stone door was grinding forward but not far. Only a foot and it was already inching shut again. She slipped through the crack without a second thought and it crunched shut behind her. Blackness. Blackness and darkness consumed her. And then all of a sudden, without any warning, the floor fell away…


For Chapter Three - The Tunnel to Nowhere and Everywhere - click here. 

© Isla Robertson 2017